


Whilst they did sleep in love’s elysium

by ShinyKipp



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Enthusiastic Consent, I see interesting characters and I explore how they bone, I'm a simple purveyor of E-rated fic, M/M, Masturbation, S3, discussion of sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 09:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyKipp/pseuds/ShinyKipp
Summary: Jon moves a little, just enough to nudge their bodies together, and he finds himself leaning into the contact. Martin isn't really awake yet, so the slow press of his hips against Jon's back is more of a shift of bodies than a conscious motion, but the warm buzz it gives him pulls him slowly out of sleep. It's a nice feeling, so he moves again. This time the buzz is a flare, and he wakes—Only to realise that he'smaybe too closeandmaybe a bit turned on, and embarrassment heats his face as he jerks away from Jon.(Or: Martin and Jon talk about what it is they're doing, exactly.)





	Whilst they did sleep in love’s elysium

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's me!
> 
> I wrote this six months ago Just For Fun, but I was emboldened to post it by episode 154. So! Here's me exploring a "they were a thing in S3" headcanon. I hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> Many thanks to [FriendlyCybird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird) and [Alexia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryDilge)  
for the beta reads!
> 
> Title is from Keats's _Endymion_

Martin wakes slowly, shifting under the big, fluffy comforter and nuzzling a little closer to the man he's spooned around. Jon is warm, and he presses his face into the untamed mess of short hair at the back of his neck. 

Jon moves a little, just enough to nudge their bodies together, and Martin finds himself leaning into the contact. He isn't  _ really _ awake yet, so the slow press of his hips against Jon's back is more of a shift of bodies than a conscious motion, but the warm buzz it gives him pulls him slowly out of sleep. It's a nice feeling, so he moves again. This time the buzz is a flare, and he wakes —

Only to realise that he's  _ maybe too close _ and  _ maybe a bit turned on, _ and embarrassment heats his face as he jerks away from Jon. 

All the blankets roll with him, and there's another half second before he hears a scoff and the creak of mattress springs. Then, a little concerned but mostly patronising: "Martin?"

He peeks out of his cocoon to see Jon looking down at him. "Yes?"

"Can I have some of the blankets back, please?"

"In just a minute." Martin rushes, and then he flushes when Jon leans over him. 

"Alright. I'll just sit here in the cold, then." 

Martin frowns. "Don't be mean. You wouldn't want to be too close right now, anyway." 

That peaks interest, and he watches Jon almost ask a question but instead pause to think.

They haven't talked about these things nearly as much as they should have, Martin thinks, but it's hard to talk about anything too personal with Jon. The man is as brilliant as anything, but interpersonal matters are  _ not _ his forte. Martin isn't even sure he can rightly call what they’re doing dating. A few dinners after work and an impromptu slumber party where he passed out on Jon’s sofa doesn’t exactly characterise a romantic relationship, especially when most of their dinner conversations revolve around Google results for ‘waxworks.’ 

But being hard at three AM probably requires an attempt at  _ talking _ about  _ feelings _ , so Martin squeaks out: "I, uh, I don't know, maybe we should talk about... things?" Going from work-related dinners to moments of stolen contact to sleeping on Jon's couch to sharing a bed wasn’t an unreasonable progression, but with so many other things going on, they hadn't taken too much time to discuss what they were actually  _ doing _ . 

Right now, the only thing he knows is that he's in Jon's flat with half an erection and a whole lot of embarrassment. He's sure Jon knows, and the way the other man carefully picks through his next sentence: "Yes, I suppose that's a good idea," makes Martin blush harder. 

"Basira told me you don't do sex things," the words burst out of him as they’re being pulled, but Martin knows It's just his own sudden panic. "That you just don't really. Care."

Jon's eyes widen, and there are several beats of silence. Then, in a twist, he scoffs through a dry laugh. He shakes his head, and Martin tries to ignore the sardonic tone that undercuts his words. "Well,  _ Basira _ should keep her gossip to herself." 

There's another pause, and Martin really thinks his heart is going to explode.

"I do care." Jon continues, and Martin's near-bursting heart twists with the sadness that creeps into the other man’s voice. "I care a lot, I just…" 

Oh, God, Martin's ruined it. They aren’t even dating and he's ruined it. Jon's going to tell him to leave, and then they’ll walk past each other in the hallway tomorrow and —

"I don't know. Maybe we can just… try?"

—and…

"What?"

It's not his most elegant response, but Martin balks a little as Jon is suddenly the one to get flustered. It gets worse when the Archivist starts  _ stammering. _

"I—I don't know. Christ, I hate talking about these things—" Jon sits up a little straighter and pushes a hand through his hair. Martin's eyes dart to the flash of silver-gray before refocusing on Jon's eyes. "I-I’ve tried it; tried sex a few times, I just never liked to be—never liked to be  _ involved _ . I don't want to say that I didn't  _ like _ it, for the most part, but I never really, uh, understood the allure, as it were. Some parts are even a bit… repulsive." His face changes from vague disgust to a more pensive look, and Martin watches his brow crease with focus. It's a very handsome look, and Martin feels his shock at the brusque nature of the whole situation settle into a more quiet awe. "I don't want you to be afraid of this, though. I don't want you to be afraid of  _ me _ ."

Oh, that tone breaks his heart. It's always only a matter of time when they spend time together, Martin thinks, and he has a moment of agony hung over how Jon makes his soul contort in so many different directions. "Oh, no, no, no, Jon, no, I'm not—" He sits up and drops the blankets. The talking is good, even if it hurts, and he only hesitates for a second before he puts his hand onto Jon's shoulder. "—I'm not afraid of you. That's, That's daft."

"I know, I know," Jon dismisses, and he turns his head to look pointedly at the wall. "I just," he sighs, "I want some things to be simple, but they aren’t. I would like to have just  _ one thing _ that's easy to talk about." He waves a hand at the discarded blanket. "But no, instead it's easier to just yank away from me in the night."

A flare of anger cuts through his shame. "That's not fair." 

Jon looks back to him and seems to notice the flush of embarrassment and annoyance that Martin feels heating his cheeks.

He bites his lip again. "No, I suppose it isn't. I'm sorry." 

"It's fine." Martin doesn’t actually know if It's fine, but he pushes forward anyway. Sometimes, conversation with Jon is like pulling teeth. Progress is gratifying, though, so Martin presses him a little more. "So, you’re uncomfortable with some things, but," he pauses. "Do you know, um, do you know what you  _ do _ want?”

Jon looks down again. "I—maybe? I'll be honest, this is the most detailed conversation I’ve ever had about these things." He scoffs, "Georgie tried, but I, uh, avoided it."

Martin huffs a laugh too. "Okay, well, thank you for being open to it now." Jon hums a noncommittal "sure," but doesn’t look at Martin until he continues talking. "So, step one. It's bad form to bring up an ex when you’re talking about maybe doing sex things with someone else."

This time, Jon turns red. "Right, okay, sorry again, then."

The nerves thrumming under Martin’s persistence want to accept the apology, say that this whole thing has been awkward enough already, and settle back in for a few more hours of sleep. The more level-headed part of him is charmed by the pink coloring Jon's face and the absolute idiocy of this brilliant man. So, Martin rolls his eyes and shifts forward. Jon seems to be at his baseline of discomfort, and Martin scoffs a little. "Step two is to stop apologizing and kiss me. Do you want that?" The hand he kept on Jon's shoulder slides easily into the bedraggled mess of his hair. 

Jon shakes his head with a smirk and nearly whispers: "I do like the kissing."

Martin leans in and guides Jon into a kiss. It isn't their first, but he deepens it with deliberate purpose and reaches his other hand for Jon's wrist to pull him closer.

Jon moves with him, not sliding into his lap but tilting his head. Their noses bump for a half moment before Jon gets situated, and Martin smiles against his lips. Jon smiles too, and he quietly murmurs "alright, then," before bringing his free hand to cradle Martin's jaw. 

The texture of the scar burned across his palm sends an uncanny shiver through Martin, and he feels himself sliding out of bullheadedness and into the curious attraction that keeps him tethered to the Archivist.

The attraction flares into arousal when Jon catches Martin's lip between his teeth. He gasps at the pointed sensation, and Jon  _ chuckles _ . Martin smacks him softly on the shoulder at the sound, but he can feel the other man’s smile against his lips. When the hand on his jaw slides back into his hair and pulls him even closer, he feels himself melt. 

The kissing is very nice, and he pulls on Jon's hair as the heat settles like a weight into his belly. 

Without preamble, Jon knots his hand in Martin's loose curls and matches his pull with a sharp tug.

It hurts in a way that makes his skin  _ burn _ , and there's no stifling the gasp that lurches from his chest. 

"I like that, too." Jon mumbles, and the already low register of his voice drops into something quieter. "Okay?"

"Yeah," he breathes. Martin's heart is acting up again, and he feels it kick up another few paces as Jon moves. The motion is slow, and Martin whines softly as Jon pulls away to lean back against the headboard. 

"Come here," he directs, sitting with his legs in a wide V shape. 

He isn't sure if he's being compelled or if he just  _ really _ wants to be in Jon's lap, but his limbs move before he thinks to respond. The angle is awkward as he tries to toss his legs over Jon's, but the other man mumbles a "No, no, not like that," before pressing on Martin's shoulder. "Turn around." 

"Oh, alright," Martin offers, pivoting on the soft mattress to drop his bottom into the space Jon left for him. 

There's a moment of silence as his hands come to rest at his sides. One of them traces a circle around some of the squares on Jon's flannel pajamas, and the other rests on his own midsection. 

"Um," Martin eventually says. He feels a bit embarrassed again. There's no way to hide his erection from this angle, and he can practically feel Jon's eyes dissecting his arousal into its component parts. "Now what?"

"I think—" Jon brings one hand to cover the one on Martin's belly. He pushes down with his palm. "I think I'd just like to watch."

"Of course you would," Martin scoffs before he can catch the words, "I mean, sure, that's fine." It's more than fine, really, he feels excitement tightening into lust with every centimeter that Jon slides their hands downwards. "You’re okay with that?"

"Oh, yes." 

It's the most certain Jon has sounded all night, so Martin hums a gentle "alright," before he lets Jon push his hand below the waistline of his pants. 

The fist he makes around his cock is loose, and he lets his head loll back onto Jon's shoulder. Peering at the other man out of the corner of his eye, he feels his breath quicken.

Jon is indeed watching him. There's something hungry in his eyes, and Martin suddenly feels an intense heaviness. It's only a look, but the weight of Jon's gaze feels somehow physical. His nerves swirl with his arousal, and he thinks of punching out of this whole situation. Maybe jerking off in his only-maybe-human-boss’s lap isn't a good idea after all and he can cut his losses with the whole thing—

Then Jon seals his lips over Martin's neck, and his anxiety burns like kindling soaked in kerosene. 

" _ God,"  _ he gasps, and he feels Jon smile for a second before returning his attention to sucking at Martin's throat. The pressure of Jon pulling a bruise from his skin makes him shudder, and he tightens his hand. 

When he's alone, Martin likes to take his time. The pace he sets is slow, but he can feel the pleasure building; a coil tightens in his belly as Jon bites the junction of his shoulder. Each pass of his fingers over the underside of his shaft urges his hips up against his palm, and it only takes a few strokes to settle into a pleasant rhythm.

He could fall into this. Pangs of sensation run from his cock to his neck to the rest of his body as Jon quietly kisses across his pulse, and Martin sighs a soft noise as he relaxes against the other man. Jon holds him close. One hand rests on Martin's midriff, and the other reaches below his clothes to tug the waistband down over his hips. 

Martin pauses to oblige him, shimmying out of his pants. 

Jon traces his fingers up Martin's forearms as they re-settle, and he moves his head to Martin's other shoulder to attend to the bruise-free skin on his right side. 

"I don't own as many turtlenecks as you do, you know," Martin quips as he feels Jon kiss his jaw. 

"Better get creative, then," he responds, and Jon reaches down again to urge Martin back to his business. 

Martin scoffs: "eager, are we?" 

"No, never," Jon says, but he drags his fingers over Martin's thighs as he speaks, nails leaving bright red marks in their wake that make Martin tremble. "It just looks like you’re having fun, is all."

He turns his neck to look at Jon, who frowns for a moment at being displaced. There is a glint in the Archivist’s eyes, though, and Martin pauses. He palms himself again, and he lets his eyes flutter shut as he releases a slow, long breath against Jon's lips. 

The next kiss is languid, and Martin raises his hips to his hand again, resuming his rhythm with a sigh that melds into a moan as Jon's arm tightens around his midsection. It slides him closer to Jon, who drops his head to nip at Martin's suddenly available shoulder. 

He gasps again as Jon's hand finds one his nipples through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. The pinch is just sharp enough to be painful, and his grip tightens automatically. 

"Oh, you like that," Jon says, and the definite, low rumble of his voice against Martin's back makes his face feel even hotter. 

He nods, biting his lip as Jon fondles him again, this time ending his attention with a twist of fingers and a kiss to Martin's ear. Martin moves his hand a little faster, reaches back his other arm to tangle his fingers in Jon's hair, and shudders through another gasp. 

He lasts longer when he's alone, but between the lips on his cheek and the hand on his chest and the fingers digging into his thigh, Martin feels himself starting to unravel. "Jon," he breathes, moving his hand faster over his cock, "Jon, I—"

"Don't finish."

The words are quiet but full of authority in a way that makes Martin's head feel a little strange. He tries to mumble out a complaint as his body nearly finds its edge, but something keeps him behind that peak.

Then: "Can you go faster?"

" _ Yes _ ," Martin gasps, digging his heels into the mattress as his hand quickens. The fuzzy feeling in his head intensifies and he hovers on the razor’s edge of climax; his legs shake, and Jon is touching him everywhere, and he shouts when Jon's lips find another unblemished spot on his throat. 

"Oh, God, Jon," He pants, and for all of the near-overwhelming stimulation, he can't seem to finish. Instead he squirms and arches his back, holding himself tighter, moving a bit faster, breathing heavy as his body burns. 

He hears Jon's breathing catch, and there's one more agonal moment of build-up before he breathes "okay," and Martin comes so hard his vision goes white. He chokes on his own gasp as his hips buck into his hand and he crashes through the blanket of static that kept him from the edge.

He comes back to himself after a minute of ragged panting and shivering. His head rests on Jon's shoulder, and he glances over at the other man. Jon's eyes are roving over his body, and Martin watches himself be observed for a moment before Jon finally meets his gaze. 

There are a few beats of silence where Jon seems to slowly come down from a high of his own, and Martin watches as his hungry eyes cool into something a bit more… timid. 

"Well," Jon eventually says, "you, uh..." He trails off, and Martin wonders if its discomfort or just a lack of familiarity with pillowtalk. 

He lifts himself from Jon's lap and pulls his mess of a nightshirt off, wiping his hand on one corner of the fabric before he tosses it near where his work pants lay folded on the floor. Jon seems to relax as soon as the mess is gone, and Martin drops himself to the mattress with a flop to reach for Jon's hand. 

The other man lets himself be moved, and Martin brings the back of that scarred hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. "Alright?" he asks after another beat of silence.

"Yes, quite alright." Jon responds, and there's still a bit of bemusement on his face as he continues: "I—I don't really know how to say it, Martin. But, that was—that was nice." 

"You can just say it," Martin says, "like you just did." He feels a soft smile on his face, but Jon remains impassive.

"Right." Then he sighs and rolls onto his back. "I'm sorry, I—I'm no good at this." Rolling back to face Martin and bring their hands closer to his face, he continues: "What’s step three?"

Martin scoffs and shakes his head. It ruffles his hair against the pillow. "I dunno, sleep, pillow talk?" He leans in good-naturedly. "Kiss me and tell me I'm pretty." 

The joke breaks through Jon's tepid countenance, and he chuckles. He does as he's told, bringing his other hand up to cradle Martin's jaw and tug him into a soft kiss. "I think there are probably more appropriate words than ‘pretty,’" he mumbles, and Martin wishes for a moment that he had the power to pull those words right out of Jon. 

Instead he hums a questioning note and kisses the corner of Jon's mouth. "Like?"

Jon pulls away enough to look at him,  _ really _ look at him, and Martin feels a swirl of uncanny scrutiny below the warm feeling of afterglow. 

"Breathtaking," he eventually seems to settle on, and he keeps his gaze focused on Martin for just another moment before looking to their clasped hands. "Maybe we can do that again sometime." 

"I wouldn't be opposed." Martin smiles. 

Jon grins back at him, and Martin's stomach does a flip at the sincerity of the rare expression. His heart beats almost as fast at the contented smile as it did with Jons hands and mouth on his body. 

He wonders if whatever it is they’re doing will make his crush better or worse. The way he feels his heart tighten when Jon slides a little closer and rests his forehead on Martin's chest makes him think  _ worse _ ,  _ definitely worse _ , but he can't bring himself to mind as they settle back down to rest. He can deal with that feeling, deal with  _ all _ of the feelings, later.

For now, Martin wraps an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and hugs him close. For now, Martin sleeps, and he does not dream. 

**Author's Note:**

> <3!


End file.
